


sleep in your office instead

by orphan_account



Series: a twist in time [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Has Issues, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, M/M, Minor Thomas Jefferson/James Madison, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, eliza is a bit of a dick, thomas jefferson cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: His eyes narrow into a glare. “You need to take better care of yourself, Hamilton. When did you last sleep?”“Oh, eight days, at least.” Hamilton says, nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly.wherein thomas is worried about alexander for some strange reason, and alexander is far too tired.





	sleep in your office instead

Jefferson wonders who would be in so late that the scribbling of their quill on paper would manage to echo throughout the entire facility where he works.

 Then again, he does not have much room to question it ─ after all, he is still here at two in the morning, and his eyes are tired, but Jefferson musters up enough energy to walk towards the office and see the nameplate ─ oh, of course. 

 It’s Hamilton.

Of course it would be Hamilton; Hamilton never sleeps. Whenever Jefferson sees him, he is working; whenever Jefferson doesn’t see him, he is still working (he knows by accounts from Madison and Washington that the man is non-stop).

Jefferson opens the door and walks in, dark overcoat flaring out behind him slightly. Hamilton does not look up.

That’s a surprise. 

Hamilton usually takes every chance he gets to insult Jefferson, so for him to not do so horrifies Jefferson slightly. 

“What are you doing, Hamilton?” Jefferson calls out, voice loud and heavy in the night air. Stifling, that’s word he’d use for it. The aforementioned man looks up. Jefferson draws in a breath when he sees the state Alexander is in ─ his eyes are blackened with a lack of sleep and his head droops. His writing is a mess. 

Hamilton glares at him. “Go away, Jefferson,” he waves him off. 

Jefferson notices that his hands shake when he gestures for him to leave. He also notices that Hamilton is skinnier than usual. “When was the last time you ate?” He asks.

Hamilton draws in a breath. “What’s the time?”

“It’s two in the morning, Hamilton.” Jefferson drawls out. “And just in case you need the date, it is the fourth of July.”

Alexander thinks for a second. “Hm… okay…” He says. “Okay, so, about three days.”

Jefferson blinks once, twice. His eyes narrow into a glare. “You need to take better care of yourself, Hamilton. When did you last sleep?”

“Oh, eight days, at least.” Hamilton says, nonchalantly. Too nonchalantly.

He glares at Alexander. “Why haven’t you gone home?” He demands.

Alexander glares back. “Oh, I think you know.”

Jefferson swallows back a gulp. He does know ─ the affair. It is no surprise. “Come on, Alexander. You need to sleep. Now, either you’re going to go to your home of your own accord or I am going to drag you there, no matter how hard or how long you protest.”

To his surprise, Hamilton lets him drag him out ─ he does not fight it, or resist in any way, just goes with Thomas.

He wonders why. Alexander  _ hates  _ him, utterly despises him. 

Looking at Alexander helps him understand why. His eyes are closed, his lip is quivering ─ and, oh, is that a tear?

“Breathe, Alexander.” Jefferson whispers. “Just breathe.” 

He does, but it is irregular and jerky. 

“Now come on ─ you are coming back to my house, and you are going to sleep and eat something, and you are going to breathe.” 

Alexander nods. “Okay.”

When he gets back to his house, Alexander is practically asleep on his feet; Jefferson rings a bell and one of the slaves, a girl named Adella, makes up a room for Alexander to stay in. “Thank you, Adella,” he says to her. “Prepare some food for the morning, and have some for yourself.”

Jefferson wonders why he is being nice to them ─ he has never done that before. Being around Alexander seemingly brings out the best in him. 

Alexander (and when did he start calling him Alexander?) almost stoops over, but Thomas catches him and brings him up to the room which Adella has prepared. He tucks the man under the sheets and walks out, but not before Jefferson makes sure there are no writing materials in the room.

He finds he cannot sleep. 

Perhaps it is worry for Hamilton; perhaps it is something else, but it keeps Jefferson awake. 

Adella makes a warm meat pie and salad from the gardens, and Jefferson politely thanks her for it and cuts her a large part of the pie to eat. She asks him why. “You deserve it,” he tells her.

The pie is delicious, the crust smooth and flaky, and works perfectly with the salad. Once he is done eating, Jefferson puts his plate in the sink and heads to the washroom to clean his face. 

The water he splashes in his face sends chills through his body and wakes him up far more than any conversation could do. 

Jefferson sits and thinks while he waits for Alexander to wake up. His thoughts wonder, he muses about why Alexander would not have gone home for days. By the time eleven a.m rolls around, Alexander still has not woken up, so Thomas goes up and gently shakes him awake.

“Jefferson…?” Alexander mumbles. His voice is thick with sleep and steeped in confusion. “Wh’time is it?” 

Thomas sighs and tells him. “Eleven in the morning,” he says. “Now come down and eat.” 

Alexander rolls tiredly out of bed, eyes drooping closed and frame lagging as he walks down the stairs. Thomas feels like he has to support him, but doesn’t, because he knows that Alexander would just shove him off and walk away and write himself to death.

He puts what’s left of the pie on a plate for Alexander and adds some salad on the side, then hands it over, along with a knife and fork. “Eat.” Thomas says.

Alexander picks at his food as Thomas gets himself some bread and butters it. He feels sick when he sees how skinny Alexander is ─ he can count his ribs. “You’re too thin, Alexander,” he says gently. “I can count your ribs!”

“Can you?” Hamilton asks, sounding slightly disbelieving.

“Yes.” Thomas nods.

Hamilton’s nose scrunches up in a slight frown as he lifts his shirt up to properly look. Jefferson turns away out of respect, hears Hamilton’s whispered, “Oh,” then turns back around.

“That’s not good, is it?” He asks.

Thomas frowns. “Definitely not, Alexander.”

He sits in silence as Hamilton eats, looks away, picks up a copy of  _ Common Sense  _ by  _ Thomas Paine _ and begins to read it. Not for the first time. He can practically read it, word for word from memory. 

A clattering of plates being dropped in the sink fills his ears and Thomas looks up to see Alexander leaning against the countertops, shivering, shaking, stuttering out a sorry with chips from the plate stuck in his hands. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Alexander whispers, unaware of the blood on his palms. “I’m so sorry." 

Thomas walks over and gently starts pulling the bits of chipped plate out of his skin. “It is okay, Alexander,” he whispers, wiping away the blood on his palms. “Don’t apologise.”

There are tears in Alexander’s eyes, a sight which is horrifically unusual to Jefferson, and he wipes them away. “You don’t have to apologise.”

Thomas leads him back to his chair and rubs soothing circles into his back. “Breathe, Alexander,” he says. “Breathe.” 

It takes time for Alexander’s breathing to even out, and Thomas stays by his side the whole time ─ it’s a slight concern of his that Alexander has not expressed his distaste of Jefferson just yet.

They move to the living-room and Alexander curls in on himself.

“So. What’s wrong?” Jefferson asks once Alexander is fully calmed down, breaths soft and even and tears no longer in his eyes. “You can tell me.” He says seriously. “Nobody else will know.” 

And Alexander tells him.

“Eliza kicked me out,” he says dully. “Said I could sleep in my office instead of in the house. Maybe if I do enough work without sleep, it’ll kill me.”

“No, Alex, don’t say that,” Thomas replies, continuing to rub circles into his back. “Please don’t say that.”

Alexander whines slightly. “Miss John,” he whispers. “I miss John. He’d know what to do. Why’d he die?”

“Oh, Alexander,” Thomas whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Before he knows it, Alexander is asleep, curled up on the couch. Thomas sighs, going to get a blanket from a cupboard and draw it up over him. “Sleep well, Alexander,” he whispers.

He’s got a meeting with Jemmy today. Oh ─ Thomas almost forgot about that.

As if summoned by his thoughts, there’s a knock on the door. Thomas gets up and opens the door; sure enough, James is there, and Jefferson tells him to be quiet because he has a guest over.

“Who is it?” James asks.

“You’ll see.” Thomas says.

They walk into the living room and Jefferson takes the seat he was in before again, smirking slightly at the shocked look on James’ face when he sees Hamilton, fast asleep. “What─ what? I thought you hated each other…”

Thomas breaks it bluntly. “I found out that he hadn’t slept in eight days or eaten in four. He’s unhealthily skinny and has had at least two mental breakdowns in the last twelve hours. I think I can put aside hatred to help him, don’t you?”

James nods. “Yes.”

He gently drags Jefferson into a kiss, warm and smooth. “He will not notice, will he?”

Thomas breathes in deeply, entwining his hand with James’. “I think not.” 

Jemmy frowns. “I hope Alexander will be okay.” He says. “Please take care of him.”

“I will.” Thomas promises. “I will.”


End file.
